


I Think You Could Save Me

by fmljustlex



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comment Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-03-08 06:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmljustlex/pseuds/fmljustlex
Summary: “I really wanna hug you again,” Justin admits, and well, that isn't exactly what Alex was expecting.The truth is, he wants him to hug him again too. He's being selfish, and he doesn't deserve any of what Justin is doing for him. Even his eyes are still red from when he'd been crying. Crying, because of Alex.Alex extracts himself from the other's hold, mumbling, “I'm fine.”“Yeah, Standall,” Justin scoffs. “That was very convincing.”“And you're clothes are still soaked.”Justin sighs, looking down at himself. “I know. That's the only reason I didn't hug you.”~^~Or, if Justin had went back to Alex's the next day, just in time to stop him.Please check the warnings in the tags!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alice James](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Alice+James).



> This is for a request I got in the comments of "The Ask and the Answer", but it got quite long and I decided to post it on its own. 
> 
> So, for Alice James who requested: 'Can you write a story where (kind of like #3) Alex tried to kill himself (in the same way as #3 or like Hannah did) an Justin finds him just in time. I would really appreciate if you wrote this. I love love love your work ^_^ From 3rd person or Alex's pov'
> 
> I'm so sorry it took me this long, but I hope you like it <3

There's no one home, so he only closes the door, doesn't lock it. There's no point. 

He stares at himself in the mirror, and for once, he doesn't feel the immediate urge to turn his gaze away. He looks, and he feels the aching guilt, the burning hatred for himself, and he doesn't try to stop the feeling. He embraces it, letting it run through him as the bath fills behind him.

He lifts the small box from where he left it on the sink, pulling it open. He tips it up until one of the blades slides out onto his palm. 

He sets the box back down on the sink and holds the blade with both hands, turning it over and over with his fingers. It's slightly cold to the touch, but he grips it tighter, edges digging into skin too lightly to break it.

He rolls up his sleeves, but doesn't bother taking off any of his clothes. She didn't, either.

She also didn't turn the tap off, and neither does he. He gets in and leans back, not even flinching at the water. He's ready for this.

He knows it won't fix anything. He knows it'll only cause more pain, more drama. But it'll be better. They'll be better off, without him. Maybe people will start to understand, if he goes too. Or maybe no one will care at all.

Maybe it makes him weak. But it's the only thing left for him, anymore. She didn't deserve it; he does. No one will miss him.

He sets the blade to his skin.

“Yo, Standall!”

He freezes. He hadn't even heard the door.

“Alex? You here? The door was open,” Justin calls. He hears footsteps on the stairs. He still hasn't moved. “I sent you a text, too.”

The footsteps move down the hall. Closer.

“Standall? You here?”

They stop outside the door. He still can't move, and he can't answer him either. The water's still running.

“Alex.” Justin's voice is quieter now, soft, almost cautious. There's a light knock on the door. “Alex. You in here?”

More silence. His hand has slid back away from his arm.

He hears Justin curse softly. “Standall, either open this door or I'm coming in anyway.”

He can't argue, and he can't move. It's not even two seconds before the handle rattles and the door is being pushed open, Justin stepping into the room with panic in his expression. His eyes land on Alex and the panic intensifies as he rushes towards him. 

“Jesus, Standall, what the fuck are you doing?!”

He reaches for the blade and Alex's fingers tighten around it, but Justin manages to take it from his hold. He sets it on the sink quickly before turning back to Alex's and grasping his wrists. “What did you do? Let me see.”

Alex manages to shake his head and finally finds his voice, even though it's no more than a croak. “I didn't….” 

He doesn't know what to say, can't explain or deny or do anything, and he's horrified as his eyes start to water. Justin notices and his eyes soften, but he's still panicked. He stands and shuts off the water and then he's stepping into the bath along with him. 

Alex can only watch him wide eyed as he gets into the water fully clothed, toeing at Alex's legs until they left and he can slide his own under them, pulling Alex into his lap. The water sloshes around them with every movement but Justin doesn't pause until he has Alex crushed to his chest, arms wound round him tightly.

Whatever dam had been built in him breaks as his face is pressed to Justin's shoulder, and he cries quietly, hands reaching up to curl in the jock's jumper. 

Justin just holds him close, hand stroking over his back gently. His other hand holds his face, fingers soothing over his cheek, the hair just behind his ear. He's soaked through already, they both are, but he doesn't complain. He just sits and holds and wait until Alex's heart calms and his crying slows. 

It should be overwhelming, Alex thought it would be, but it isn't. If anything it's the opposite. The touch and the water seem to numb everything else, and he thinks it would be okay if he could just stay sitting here like this. 

Alex presses closer to Justin and the jock moves the hand on his back around his waist, hugging him tighter. He hasn't looked up at him since, face hidden against his chest. He doesn't want to see whatever expression is going to greet him. He doesn't want to break this, whatever this is. Doesn't want to move and ruin it, watch Justin realise he isn't worth trying to save and leave him. 

But, Alex wonders, since when does he want to be saved?

He feels Justin's chin brush the top of his head when he tilts his head down, and there's only the slightest shake in his voice when he speaks. “Let's get out of here now, okay?”

Alex doesn't want to. He leans away from Justin anyway. 

He doesn't get far, though, the jock pulling him back against him immediately. He wraps one arm around his back and the other under his legs, and stands slowly, Alex settled in his grasp.

Alex wants to scoff and tell him it's unnecessary, wants to complain, or protest, tell him he hasn't lost the use of his legs. But he still can't find the words, or even his voice. He can't find the strength.

Justin doesn't even falter as he gets to his feet and steps out of the bath, their clothes dripping. Only then does Justin lower Alex's legs and let him stand, but he still keeps a hand on his waist. He grabs a towel with his free one and turns Alex towards him before wrapping it around his shoulders. 

Alex looks up at him and realises with a start that his eyes are red, cheeks damp. His throat tightens again and his heart gives a throb of guilt. “I’m,” he takes a shallow breath, his voice still a rasp, “I'm sorry.”

The towel is tucked closed around him before he's pulled into another crushing hug. He lets his head drop back onto Justin's shoulder, incapable of doing anything else. His arms are trapped against his sides under the towel, so he just stands and lets himself be held. 

He realises, idly, that the floor is wet, most likely caused by the water being splashed out when Justin had gotten in and when they got out. He should clean it up before his dad gets home.

Right now, though, he can't even remember when that's supposed to be. There's only Justin's arms around him, Justin's warmth pressed against him, Justin's face buried in his shoulder. Justin shaking slightly with silent tears, tears for Alex, that he certainly doesn't deserve but leaves his heart swelling with warmth.

“Jesus, Standall,” he says, again. Alex turns his head until his nose is pressed to the other's throat. Justin holds him tighter. Then, “Okay. Okay.”

He pulls away so he only has one arm around him and leads him out of the bathroom and down the hall. He pushes open the door to Alex's room long enough to guide him in before shutting it behind them. The whole time, Alex can only follow limply, until he's sat on his bed with Justin crouched in front of him. 

The jock even thought enough to make sure the towel was wrapped around him completely, that he was sitting on it, so the bed wouldn't get wet. 

Alex wonders suddenly if he's dreaming. 

It's a rational thought, because Justin Foley is crouched in front of him with worry, fear, and pain in his eyes, eyes that are still slightly wet, puffy and red like the lips that are pressed into a tight line. He's still holding the edges of the towel, keeping it in place around Alex, and the only way this would happen is if he'd conjured it up in his mind.

But Justin Foley is right here, crouched in front of him, real and warm and touching him. 

It's unnatural and distracting enough that he almost forgets what he was about to do before he appeared. Almost, for a small moment, as his brain surpasses everything else to focus on the jock, before everything crowds back in around it and he suddenly wants Justin to turn back around and leave him, so he can do what he's supposed to.

His wishes aren't granted, though. Instead, Justin reaches out and gently grips his wrists.

He turns them so the inside of his forearms are facing up, then strokes his thumbs over them. Light, careful, searching. Alex's chest tightens, but he makes no move to stop him. He spreads his fingers over the skin, trailing them up and back down. Alex's actual veins tingle under the touch and even as his heart thunders and mind clouds, it's a blissful reprieve that has nothing to do with pain. He can only hold his breath and try to memorise the feeling before Justin stops. 

When he does, though, it's to reach up and pull down his sleeves. Once he's done so he holds them there for a moment, staring, bottom lip pulling between his teeth. 

He lets go to take Alex's hands, pulling them to his chest. Alex still can't do anything more than stare at him. He shakes his head, and now that he's holding his hands, Alex can feel him trembling. “If I'd been a few minutes later—” he breaks off, pulling in a shaky breath. “God, I would've been the one to find you.”

Alex's heart clenches again. “I'm sorry.”

“Alex, stop apologizing before I have to hug you again.”

“Sorry.”

Justin looks up at him. Alex meant it seriously, but he also really does want another hug. He doesn't get one. 

“How long has this been going on?” Justin asks him.

Alex really wants to pretend he doesn't know what he's talking about, ask ‘how long has what been going on?’, but knows it would be pointless. He also doesn't want to hear what Justin's answer would be, doesn't want to make him give one. So he just looks down and answers, “A while.”

Another shaky breath. “Can you be a little more specific?” Alex doesn't respond. “At least tell me if it's the tapes, Alex.”

He looks up. He can't tell him, really, because he doesn't completely know himself. “I don't know. I think so. But no. It was there, before. They just made it worse.”

Justin looks heartbroken. “Fuck, Alex. I didn't know. I should've fucking seen it. God, I'm so sorry I didn't know.”

Alex's brow furrows. Justin has no reason to apologize. He has no reason to care about Alex. It's not like others had seen it. His family doesn't know. “No one does.”

“Yeah, because we're all fucking idiots,” Justin says, angrily, and Alex isn't sure what to think of that. His voice is much softer again when he adds, “I'm glad I know now. If I hadn't found you… Fuck, I don't know what I would've done.”

Alex can't help asking. “Why do you care?”

Justin seems taken aback by the question, staring up at him with sad eyes. “Seriously?” Alex shrugs, looking down again. 

He gets another hug. This one is different, not as urgent. It's soft and careful and full-of-care, Justin just leaning into him and cradling him in his hold. He tucks his chin over Alex's shoulder and tightens his arms slightly even though Alex still hasn't made any move to reciprocate. 

Then he moves his lips to Alex's ear and says, quietly, “I care,” and Alex sinks against him.

They stay like that for a moment before Justin pulls back and runs his hands down the blonde's arms. “You're shivering. You need to get out of these clothes.” He doesn't move, though, just sits where he is and looks at Alex and keeps his hands on his arms. 

Alex nods and moves to get up, towel falling from his shoulders, but Justin's hands tighten to a grip and he pushes him back down. “I'll get them.”

He stands, and the second his touch leaves Alex, the panic sets in. Why is Justin even here? He shouldn't be, he doesn't even like Alex anymore, Alex fucked everything up. Now, he's done so even more. Now Justin knows how fucked up his head is, and he's going to leave him completely this time.

Or worse, he'll stay, and Alex will be forced to stay with him. 

Justin comes back and holds out a dry pair of jeans and shirt, and embarrassingly, boxers. “Here, put these on. I have some in my bag.” 

Alex forces out a, “Thanks,” and goes to move past him. 

“Woah,” Justin catches his arm, “where are you going?”

The blonde raises an inquisitive brow. “To change?”

“No. You're staying here. If you leave, I'm coming with you. I don't care whether you like it or not but I'm not letting you out of my sight, Standall.”

Alex's heart lifts. Still, though, “I'm not—I’m not changing with you watching me.”

“I didn't think you would,” Justin shrugs, before making a point of turning around and facing the opposite wall. “There. I'm not watching you.”

Oh, God, this isn't happening. He’s spent the whole time worrying about Justin leaving; instead, he's apparently gained himself a constant babysitter. He tells himself it's an unwanted one, but his heart's still fluttering, the jock's presence still dulling the pain.

He refrains from protesting any further and just strips out of the wet clothes quickly, pulling on the clean ones. Justin keeps his word and stays staring at the wall until he's done. 

“Okay,” is all he says when he is, and Justin turns around to look at him, eyeing the way his arms are wrapped around himself. He heads back over to the wardrobe and pulls out one of Alex's cardigans, bringing it over to him. 

Instead of giving it to him though, he holds it open for Alex to slide his arms through.

Alex blinks at him. “Seriously?”

Justin doesn't falter. With a weak sigh Alex shoves his right arm through the sleeve, twisting to do the same with his left. Justin uses the grip he still has on the edges to tug him back around towards him.

He looks at him for a moment and Alex waits patiently for him to spit out whatever he wants to say. 

“I really wanna hug you again,” Justin admits, and well, that isn't exactly what Alex was expecting. 

The truth is, he wants him to hug him again too. He's being selfish, and he doesn't deserve any of what Justin is doing for him. Even his eyes are still red from when he'd been crying. Crying, because of Alex. 

Alex extracts himself from the other's hold, mumbling, “I'm fine.”

“Yeah, Standall,” Justin scoffs. “That was very convincing.”

“And you're clothes are still soaked.”

Justin sighs, looking down at himself. “I know. That's the only reason I didn't hug you.”

He goes to pick up his duffel, still there from the night before. Probably what he was here for, Alex realises. He tugs it open and searches until he finds clean clothes, tossing them on the bed as he drops the bag on the floor. His hands reach for his belt buckle.

“Jesus,” Alex curses, hands coming up to cover his eyes even as he turns around. 

He can almost hear Justin rolling his eyes. “I don't know why you're all modest on me now, Standall, I found you in the bathtub.”

“Clothed! And because you barged into my bathroom.”

“Yeah, well what would've fucking happened if I didn't?”

Alex falters at the pure pain in Justin's voice. He hadn’t considered the jock as a problematic factor at all, hadn't thought to check his phone. It was a mistake he hadn't anticipated, and he feels stupid for it. Justin could've been the one to find him.

The thought makes him feel sick.

He knows Justin's done when arms wrap around his waist. Justin drops his forehead until it's pressed against the back of Alex's neck, hair tickling his skin.

“Sorry,” he apologizes softly as he pulls him back against his chest. “I'm not mad at you. I just, when I came in and saw you like that…. Jesus, Alex, you scared the shit out of me.”

Alex winces. He hadn't thought they would care. His dad would've been more pissed than upset. His mom would never be around enough to miss him. Peter would have panicked, but he would've gotten over it quickly. 

No one at school would have even noticed his absence, until it was announced. He doesn't think he would've got as much attention as Hannah. People wouldn't stick flowers or notes to his locker.

Or maybe they would. At least the others on the tapes. To try to tell themselves it wasn't their fault, the same as they had for her.

That's what he'd thought. Now, though, as he stands here with Justin plastered to his back, he considers the idea that he was wrong. 

He twists around in Justin's arms and wraps his own around him in return. Justin pulls him close and when Alex buries his head back in his chest, he rests his chin on his hair. “What are you thinking about?” 

Alex presses closer. Shakes his head.

“Please talk to me Standall,” Justin whispers, hand moving from his waist to the back of his neck, squeezing lightly. Alex can't. He still doesn't know what to say. 

Justin sighs. “C’mere.” He guides him to the bed and pulls him down onto it, until he's lying back against the bed. He lets himself be manhandled, not moving even as Justin wraps himself around him like a koala. His arms wrap tightly around his waist and he swings a leg over Alex's, tangling them together, head laying on his shoulder. 

It's comforting and warm and unbearably nice. Alex tells himself he doesn't like it, but he really doesn't want it to stop.

Justin tilts his head up and blows on his neck, making Alex squirm. “What are you doing?”

He tries to ignore the embarrassingly high state of his voice as Justin looks up at him seriously. “I'm sending you good vibes. They're coming. There's nothing you can do to stop them.”

Alex shrugs his shoulder so it jostles the older boy, lips tugging up involuntarily. “I think that's the most threatening way I've ever been cheered up.”

“But it worked?” Justin questions hopefully.

Did it? Alex doesn't know. He decides not to answer. “I should clean the bathroom before Dad gets back.”

Justin holds him tighter. “The bathroom will be fine.”

“No, he'll be mad and wonder what happened—”

“Good, then you can tell him.”

Alex stiffens. Justin knowing was a problem he could deal with, probably by avoiding. He hadn't thought about his parents. 

“I-I can't. I can't, it's not—”

“Alex,” Justin cuts him off. His face is pressed to his neck, and Alex's chest tightens when he realises his eyes have started to water again. “You were about to slit your wrists. If I hadn't showed up, or even if I'd been a couple of minutes later, it might've been too late. You would've killed yourself, Alex.”

He takes a breath. “They have to know. If they know, this can be helped. I'll be there with you. If you really can't, I'll tell them, but I can't just let you do nothing. I have to know you're okay, Standall, or at least on your way to it.”

Alex is crying, too. It annoys him, because he hates crying. “How? How do I tell them?”

Justin leans up a little to look at him, reaching to wipe away his tears. “We'll figure that out in a bit, okay? Can you just, will you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Don't do it again. Please.”

Alex's heart aches. “I can't.”

He watches as the jock closes his eyes for a moment before looking at him pleadingly. “Okay. Then promise me you'll talk to me instead. Whenever you feel like doing anything that, that stupid. Just. Just call me if I'm not with you, and I'll answer, and we don't even have to talk about what's wrong. We don't have to talk at all if you don't want to, I'll just stay on the phone with you, or come to you, or whatever you want. Just please promise me you'll try.”

His hand's still resting on Alex's cheek where he wiped away his tears. Alex stares up at him, breath catching as he nods. “What if you can't answer?”

“That won't happen.”

“But what if you have a game or something?” 

“You'll be in the stands. I meant it when I said I'm not letting you out of my sight. I mean it, Alex. If you need me, I'll be there.”

Alex finally lets himself relax as Justin pushes his hand into his hair. “Okay.”

Justin breathes a sigh of relief and settles back down against him. Alex slowly wraps his arms around him and is rewarded with a light squeeze to his side. “Okay. You're gonna be alright, Standall.”


	2. I Think You Saved Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a couple of asks for more, so I hope I did it justice. Please let me know what you think!! Thank you so much for the love on the first part, I appreciate all of it more than you know <3

He falls asleep. There, on top of his bedsheets, wrapped in the arms of Justin Foley, somehow he falls asleep. Maybe it was what happened. Maybe it took a while to sink in, but it had taken more out of him than he thought. Maybe he was still numb, maybe even before, he’d been shutting down.

Or maybe it was the other numbness. Maybe it was the pressure, the warmth that completely cocooned him. The stillness, the safety, the quiet. The everything in his head finally stopping in a way he doesn’t remember it ever having done, before. So there was nothing but the warmth. The pressure of the arms around him, of the body against his.

Then he wakes up, and there is no warmth. No pressure. He’s still laying on top of his sheets, still has that feeling of numbness, but he’s cold. He’s alone.

Justin isn’t here.

No one is.

He pushes himself up, so he’s sitting on the bed, pulls his knees up to his chest. There’s still nothing, for a moment. Everything is still, his feet planted flat, his arms limp at his sides. Cold and numb. For a moment.

His head’s still fogged with sleep, maybe. It hasn’t caught up with what’s happening, what this is, what it means.

But the fog is slowly clearing, as it always does. There’s still light shining through the window and it pushes it away too quickly, too easily, creates room for the everything else. Like he’d been always driving towards it, and he’d been forced to flick on the headlights suddenly. Shocking everything into clarity, but only if it was close enough, if it was in the light; and everything always wants to be, would push and claw and fight for it and that’s what it does. Everything pushes in, muddled together, too much squeezed into the small space of his head and it’s too big and too much and too loud.

This was supposed to be over. He isn’t supposed to have to feel this anymore. He’d almost done it, just—how long ago? The sun is out, but suddenly he doesn’t know if that’s of the evening or the morning and his hands are shaking as he reaches out for his phone.

He unlocks it and looks at the time and sees it was just a few hours ago, rationalises that it was the only possibility anyway because he could never have slept that long and if he managed his parents would have woke him. So it was just a few hours ago he’d been sitting there, just a few hours ago when he hadn’t checked his phone.

The messages from Justin are there now, asking if it was okay to come over, if Alex was there to let him in, if he’d rather he came later, if he’d rather just give his bag to him somewhere else, that actually he needed his shit and he was coming anyway, Alex always leaves his window open.

There’s nothing after that—there’s no goodbye.

Because he’s left, hasn’t he?

There’s no reason for him to have sent a goodbye, and every reason for him to have gone. Maybe that’s what was going to happen all along, maybe he was just waiting to slip away, maybe he didn’t mean what he said but he didn’t want to live with the guilt. Or maybe he had meant it but he’d changed his mind, Alex had fallen asleep and he’d had time to think and run. There’s no reason for him to stay. Alex doesn’t know why such a stupid part of him had thought he would.

Justin Foley has no reason to care about him more than anyone else. He had looked so shaken, though, had been shaking, terrified, and Alex feels more guilt join the rest. Justin had lost everything the night before, had said those exact words to Alex, and he’d just shoved more shit on his plate. He’s freaked him out, given him more guilt, all while managing to not even fucking do what he was supposed to.

He was going to, though, he’d just been interrupted. He still can.

But he’d promised Justin. That he wouldn’t, that he would talk to him, that he would call or text or find him if he thought about it. But he didn’t mean it, couldn’t have. He isn’t here. He’s gone, and Alex should go too.

He doesn’t want to. Couldn’t, because he can’t move. Because the water is there, pressing in around him, soaking him, chilling him, and the cold blade is pressing into his skin and this time it breaks underneath. It doesn’t hurt, he can’t feel it, blocked by the pain of everything else and it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, everything is too much and he can’t breath, can't—

“Shit, you’re awake, sorry I was,” the words trail off, and Alex is glad because it sounds like Justin’s voice and that seems entirely cruel. His mind doesn’t need it, doesn’t need the extra hurt.

There’s something on his arms, then. Some other sensation that breaks through the water and the numbness. Like there’s suddenly small dots of fire pressing against his skin, sparking in his veins. It’s pleasant, though, a wonderful burning against the cold and he wants more.

The voice is there again, saying his name, and he wants so badly to listen to it and so badly for it to stop. “Alex, Alex, hey, what is it? Just breathe, Alex, you’re okay.”

He’s shaking his head, he thinks, pushing the voice away, hands reaching out and pushing against something, at least. Something that seems solid, that sends those sparks up his fingertips and he stops pushing to curl his hands and the sensation shoots up his arms.

“Alex? Alex, hey, look at me.”

He tries to, follows the voice that sounds like Justin and finds something that looks like him, that’s looking back at Alex with the same expression he’d worn earlier. With something like panic and fear and worry and sadness and calm all at once.

The sparks are on his sides now, are moving to his back, and he’s on his bed not in the bath, and Justin’s in front of him. But that can’t be, because Justin left. It’s something with his face and his voice, something his mind’s made to torture him or make some futile attempt to save him.

He’s crying now, can feel the tears falling down his cheeks and the burning is pushing away the cold but he still can’t breathe. “Alex,” the thing that looks like Justin repeats, except this time it’s quieter and cracked, even in Alex’s head he’s broken.

Its arms wrap around him, hugging him, and it feels so much like the real Justin did just a couple hours before and Alex forces out a choked, “Stop.” The arms hold tighter and Alex shakes his head, uncurling his fingers so he can push again. “Stop, stop, you’re not here, stop, please, you’re not real.”

“I am, Alex, of course I’m real, I promise, I’m right here. I’m so sorry, Alex, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

It’s a lie, Alex knows it’s a lie but he doesn’t have the strength to push it, this, him away. He sinks into him, curls his fingers back into his shirt, digs his head into his shoulder as he tries to breathe. It smells like Justin. He has to be real. Alex so badly wants him to be real.

“Justin,” he chokes, too desperate, too hopeful. A hand just rubs soothingly over his back, comforting and grounding and keeping him close.

“It’s me, Alex, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Justin,” Alex repeats. Then again, stronger, and his hand is still rubbing his back and the sparks are turning back into that warmth and he can breathe.

Alex slowly lets go of his shirt and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. Justin pulls him closer, and Alex realises it’s really him. “You…you came back?”

Justin shakes his head. “I never left. I wanted to just stay with you but I thought I could, I could clean up the water while you slept and I’d be done before you woke up.”

“You—But you said we should leave it.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to leave it for your parents to have to clean up, I guess, and I would’ve offered then anyway but I know I won’t want to leave you. I’m sorry, Alex, I thought you’d know I wouldn’t leave. I’m not leaving, Alex.” Alex nods into his chest. He didn’t know, but he should have. “How far did you think I was going to get without my bag, huh?”

Alex tilts his head up to see over the other’s shoulder. His bag is indeed there, still lying open where he’d left it. Alex hadn’t even thought to look. “I didn’t see it.”

“It’s okay. I’m here now. You good?” He pulls back to look at him, hand coming up to his face. His touch is featherlight as he wipes away Alex’s tears, as if Alex is something fragile, delicate.

He nods weakly, drawing his arms back from Justin’s waist. He hugs them around himself and Justin sighs. He swings his legs up onto the bed and scoots back until he’s resting against the pillows next to Alex. He puts an arm behind his back and pulls him against him, Alex following easily. Justin presses a kiss to his head and Alex allows himself to lean into him, eyes squeezing shut and tangling his fingers back in Justin’s shirt.

Justin stretches his other arm around Alex’s front, hugging him until he’s almost sat in his lap. “What happened?”

Alex shrugs slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Alex.”

“I thought you’d left. That you—you being here was the only thing stopping me, and then you weren’t and I could…” he shakes his head, stops.

Justin squeezes him tighter. “You promised.”

Alex shuts his eyes. “I know. I thought you’d left.”

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? And I’m not letting you go anywhere either.”

He lies down and brings Alex with him, laying them on their sides, facing each other. Alex can’t look at him but he also can’t not. His eyes flit over his face; his nose is a little red, as are his cheeks, eyes and lips puffy and sad. His hair’s slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. Alex focuses on these things, the things that are different, wrong, most likely things that he’s caused. Them, and not the usual things he focuses on. Like how his nose is just the right shape and size for his face, the visible lines of his cheekbones, of his jaw, the coloured brightness of his eyes that are always soft and shining and sad, puppy looking. The gentle shape of his lips, how they’re always chapped and still look soft and how they move around that damn smile.

There is no smile, now.

“You ready to talk about it yet?” Alex takes a shuddering breath, shakes his head. Justin nods, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “What about your parents?”

Alex thinks. “I want it to stop,” he whispers. “But I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you want to try, maybe?” Justin questions softly, adds, “You don’t have to do it today.”

“No. I-I want it to stop.”

“Okay. Okay, Alex. Do you….want me there?”

Alex just nods. He wants to reach out to him again, wants to be pulled back into him, though the soft stroking on his cheek is distracting enough. He looks up and meets the boy’s eyes. They’re soft and sad and puppy-like, as he expected. Alex wants to hug him and tell him he’s okay, do something to make those eyes bright and shining again and he can’t. He wouldn’t even know how to try.

Justin just looks back at him. After a moment, he bites his lip, pulling it between his teeth gently and Alex hates it. “Can I—is there anything I can do?”

There is, Alex thinks. But he doesn’t know how to ask for it. Justin seems to understand, though, or maybe he just wants the same thing. He slides over and wraps his arms back around him, pulling him into his chest. Alex curls against him, his body relaxing instantly, all the leftover tension seeping from his veins. Justin is incredibly comfortable. Warm and solid but cushioned, blue jumper soft under Alex’s cheek. Alex wants to sink against him and hold on and never move.

He doesn’t want to think about what that means. He doesn’t need to. It’s something he’s already thought about too many times, something he’s all too aware of, something that makes it easier to hate himself. That would make Justin hate him, if he knew.

“We’re going to get through this, you know,” Justin says after a minute, quietly. “This doesn’t have to ruin us, Alex.”

“Doesn’t it? Hasn’t it done that already? We’re all fucked now, right? Or is that not what you said?”

He feels Justin shrug. “We were fucked anyway. And you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Justin?”

“I don’t know. I know you’re not worried about them coming out, that you…you probably want them to. I mean, the guilt. And the grief, or whatever. It’s not going to fix anything. Hannah, she didn’t make those tapes to ruin us like that. I’m sorry, I know I don’t help either.”

Alex pulls away from him and sits up, shaking his head. “No, you don’t get to take the blame for how fucked up I am.” It isn’t fair, Alex thinks, he doesn’t get to do that. Doesn’t get to blame himself for this when it has nothing to do with him. Alex doesn’t want the guilt of it.

Justin sits up with him. “I’ve been the one telling all of you to keep your mouth shut. If I’d just, if I paid attention instead of worrying so much about myself—”

“Stop,” Alex shakes his head. “Please. I—You saved me. You can’t do this now. Please.”

Justin looks at him for a moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Alex allows himself to look, tells himself he has the excuse of avoiding the other’s eyes. He nods, sliding his hand over Alex’s jaw and pulling him forward to kiss his forehead. “Okay. I’m sorry.” Alex shakes his head and Justin pulls him into him like he had a few minutes ago. Leaning back against the headboard, arm wrapped securely around Alex’s shoulders, head leaning atop his blonde one where it rests on Justin’s chest.

They sit like that, curled towards and around each other until there’s the sound of a car pulling up, engine cutting off. Justin shifts, as if to move away, and Alex latches an arm around his waist. The brunette doesn’t make any more movements, body stiff, and Alex says, “Don’t.” He relaxes again, arm settling back comfortably over Alex’s shoulders.

They stay, Alex buried in his chest and Justin’s cheek pressed to his hair even when there’s footsteps on the stairs. A voice calls his name, and he’s a little relieved when he recognises it as his mother’s.

Mainly because, when he doesn’t answer, she pushes his door open.

Her eyes land on them and stay for a minute. “What are you boys doing here? You’re supposed to be in school.”

Alex can feel Justin’s eyes on him, waiting for his response, to see what he wants to do. He doesn’t know what that is. He hides from them both, averting his gaze to his lap. He can see his mom put her hands on her hips, waiting too. Alex wants to scream at them. That he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell them, he’s sorry he’s keeping Justin from school, it’s not like he was planning on him being here, he doesn’t know what’s happening, he doesn’t know what to do. He sits silently, and he thinks just that may be enough to kill him.

Justin clears his throat, squeezes Alex’s shoulder. “We uhm, we want to talk to you about something. Or Alex does. Both of you, Mr Standall too. Right, Alex?”

Still being careful. Still giving Alex the opportunity to say no, to change his mind. It would be so easy to say something now that would get him out of it. That it was just his stomach things. They were still getting worse, making him sick, so he didn’t go to school. Justin came to check on him. It would be that easy. But it isn’t. He nods mutely.

Carolyn looks more concerned, then. She comes over and gently sits down next to Alex. “Is everything alright?”

Alex takes a moment to find his voice. “I…can we wait for Dad? Just, please.”

“Of course, honey,” she nods. “He may be another couple of hours, though.”

Alex understands this isn’t for him. It doesn’t matter to him, isn’t him it really affects. This is a question, directed at Justin. He seems to understand this too, thankfully, and responds for them. “That’s okay. We can wait.” Alex sags into him. He didn’t even realise he’d tensed, but he definitely relaxes at Justin’s words. He isn’t leaving.

Alex watches his mom as she considers this. She pats his leg. “Okay then. How about we go downstairs? Justin, would you like something to eat?”

Justin perks up at that immediately, and a small, strange part of Alex wants to laugh. He opens his mouth then closes it again, looking down at Alex. Who was he to say no? He simply nods and watches Justin turn back to his mom with a grin. “Yeah, sure.”

He gets up and drags Alex with him, tugging him into the hall and down the stairs after Carolyn. Alex follows only because he’s guided fully by the hand wrapped around his, by the one place on his body he can still feel that warmth. That he can feel anything other than the numbness.

Then Justin lets go, and it’s gone.

Alex wants to pull him back. Wants to say ‘no, wait’, to ask. But he can’t speak, and he can’t reach out so he sinks into the kitchen chair and does nothing.

Justin sits across from him and Alex absolutely aches.

He contents himself with watching Justin’s lips move, listening to the sound of his voice. He can’t hear what he’s saying anymore. It’s just this blur in his mind, just the soft, slightly hoarse tone he’s used to, noise that isn’t making any actual words. His eyes shift and catch Justin’s, who’s now looking back at him. There’s a concerned crease on his brow, but he doesn’t say anything. Alex is grateful.

There’s a pressure, then, pushing gently against his foot. He doesn’t have to look to know it’s Justin’s own, and immediately relaxes at the feeling. It’s making him anxious, the waiting, the separation, and he wants to ask Justin to just lay with him and hold him again no matter how pathetic that makes him. He misses the warmth and the quiet, isn’t even really sure how to explain what it is other than it’s distracting and he wants it.

It gives him time to think about how he could possibly explain, though, but it doesn’t work. He doesn’t know where to begin even in his thoughts. He knows how it feels, he thinks.

It hurts, sometimes. Manifests this physical pain that seems impossible to get rid of. Like there’s something caught in your throat. An unpleasant tightness in your stomach. Like you can’t breathe, but it isn’t in your chest that you feel it, it’s your throat and stomach and head, an all encompassing feeling of being confined. That if you move even a finger it’ll feel wrong, hurt, so your brain twists it until you just can’t and you sit, frozen. Like any touch is too much, even your own, because there’s already too much pressure and the lightest addition burns. But it’s also not enough, and you think if it was somehow bigger, offered from outside yourself it would feel better. It would feel like warmth and safety and air, and in the actual confinement, you could breathe.

But it’s not there, until it is and it still isn’t enough. It’s a pleasant pressure-pain and the briefest reprieve, a free breath, and it’s never enough.

Sometimes you can’t look at anyone, for fear of them knowing. Then you realise that even as you’re screaming, clawing at your own insides, that they don’t. It’s almost worse.

That’s how it feels. He knows that. He also knows that saying it out loud would be met with blank looks or confusion, would be far from understood. It’s why he hasn’t. He kept thinking he wouldn’t have to, that it must be so obvious on his face, in his voice, that everyone could see and hear it. None of them did, though, and it was allowing him to slip away. He almost had.

Almost.

Then Justin Foley was there. Out of everyone, he never expected him. But he thinks he sees it, in the way they’d just looked at each other. That Justin Foley sees him now.

Part of him wants to hide. Another, more confusing part never wants him to stop looking.

He sits and waits. Watches his lips move as he eats, talks, laughs; focuses on the pressure of his foot against Alex’s own. And he tries to stay.

They move to the living room eventually, and Justin sits next to him. He sits close, leaving only a couple of inches between them, and Carolyn sits in one of the armchairs. Alex leans closer to Justin, an almost unconscious movement. He regrets it immediately.

Then Justin shifts closer, too, the most minimalistic movement, only noticeable because Alex is aware of his every breath. In a much more visible gesture, he reaches out and sets his hand on Alex’s knee. Squeezes. Alex resists the urge to grab it and cling to him, but he lets himself lean into his side. Justin simply relaxes against him.

Alex is looking at the side of his face, and drags his gaze away once he realises to find his mom looking at him. She averts her eyes immediately but Alex knows he caught her. There’s a small smile on her face, and Alex wonders what she must think of them right now. What they look like to someone who doesn’t know.

It takes twenty minutes of them sitting there before Alex’s dad comes home. He takes in the scene they make, Alex still pressed against Justin on the couch, his wife sat with her legs casually folded. None of them talking. “Aren’t you boys supposed to be at school?”

Carolyn leans forward. “Alex wants to talk to us.” He looks at her with raised brows, and she shakes her head, shrugs slightly. No, she doesn’t know what it’s about; no, he hasn’t told her first. He hasn’t said a word.

“Okay,” Bill sits on the edge of the armchair and looks at Alex expectantly. “What’s worth missing school, son?”

Alex’s lips part. That’s as far as he gets. They’re all looking at him, waiting, and he has nothing to tell them. Justin squeezes his knee again and softly says, “Alex. It’s okay if you can’t.”

Alex stares at him and really takes in what he’s doing. He wants Alex to tell his parents, so they can help him. Wants to help him himself. He didn’t say a word about Alex leaving certain things out; about him not telling them anything. He’s leaving it completely up to what Alex wants, and he thinks that’s how he gets the words out.

“I could have stopped it. But I didn’t. I just want it to stop.”

His mom shifts forward, voice gentle when she speaks. “You want what to stop, Alex?”

He can’t speak, can hardly breath, only Justin tightens his grip and he’s grounded. He looks at him and wordlessly shakes his head. I can’t. You. Please.

Justin gives him one last questioning look and he nods. Alex watches as he reaches into his pocket, brow furrowing until he realises what it is. He places the small box of razor blades on the coffee table.

“I found him i-in the bath, with one of these.” His voice is tight, shaky, as he says the words, and Alex closes his eyes.

“Jesus.” It’s his father’s voice, he knows, and he opens his eyes to see that he’s gotten to his feet and turned away from them.

Justin settles back next to him, hand finding its place on his knee again, and Alex chokes out, “I’m sorry.”

“Honey,” his mom moves to sit on his other side, hand immediately going to his hair and Alex shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. “Justin, could you maybe give us a minute?”

“No.” This time Alex does reach out, hand landing on Justin’s forearm, fingers curling in the fabric of his jumper. “No, please, I can't—”

“Okay, okay,” Carolyn soothes.

But Alex shakes his head again, looking at Justin, who’s still looking back at him and who moves his other hand to cover Alex’s own. Not moving or squeezing or gripping, just covering, touch gently firm in its reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Alex keeps staring at him, looking for the lie. He relaxes when he doesn’t find one.

“Alex. What is bothering you this much, sweetheart?”

He looks back at his mom. Tries to find some way to start to explain. “I could have stopped it. Hannah. I-I didn’t stop it.”

She gives him a pitying look, shaking her head, like she understands and he’s wrong, but he isn’t. He knows he isn’t. They don’t know what happened, what he did. Or didn’t do.

“Alex, you know it wasn’t you,” Justin starts. “I mean, seriously? Compared to the rest of us you can’t keep blaming yourself. That stupid list was Bryce’s idea, you just—”

“It’s not the fucking list,” Alex cuts him off, harshly. Desperate. Justin stares at him. “I was there. That night, at his house? Monty and I were still there. We were in the pool house. I fucking heard her, Justin. Monty saw them. I heard it and I called her a desperate slut. I did nothing. I could have stopped it.”

Justin’s still staring at him, now with lips parted in disbelief. Then he breathes, “Fuck. You guys never came out. I-I forgot you were even still there.” Alex shakes his head.

He can’t look at him. At any of them, so he lowers his gaze to his lap and blinks furiously because he’s not going to fucking cry right now. His parents are quiet, and he can tell they’re confused. He thinks they’re about to ask when there’s a touch on his face, and he’s directed to look at Justin when he speaks again.

“You couldn’t have stopped it. What the hell do you think you could have done, Alex? What, you would have gone out and screamed at him? Like that would have helped? He would have fucking killed you if you tried to do anything. And Monty? He would go farther to protect himself with Bryce than I would. You couldn’t have fucking done anything Alex, don’t you get that? You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could have been there for her,” Alex argues. He hates how high and weak his voice sounds, hates how Justin of all people isn’t listening, hates himself. “I could have told someone, about her, about Bryce, I could have—I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I wanted to be so mad at you, I was so fucking mad at you because I was mad at myself and you had so much more to lose than I did and I was the one who did nothing because I was fucking scared.”

He sees it. The moment this sinks in with Justin and he understands the problem. “Alex,” his voice cracks. “You didn’t know. That wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped something you didn’t know was happening. I…I knew. And I’ve never done anything. And you brought me back here last night and gave me fucking ice cream and told me we’d figure it out. That it’d be okay,” he shakes his head, lets out this laugh that’s anything but. Throaty and humourless and disbelieving. Pained. “You’re a fucking dumbass, Standall. You know that?”

The words are ones that should be more angry than comforting, but Justin’s pulling him into a fierce hug immediately after he says them. Alex falls against him, because this is what he needed. He could never bring himself to tell Justin for fear that it would make him hate him. That he’d get pissed at Alex for being pissed at him, for being a hypocrite. Or that he’d get scared and push him away even more. Only a tiny part of him thought he would have a chance of receiving this.

That Justin would feel for him, because he knows. He gets it; understands the guilt Alex feels, just what it is he’s going through.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says softly. “It’ll be okay.”

Alex brings his arms up around his waist, pressing his forehead into his shoulder and Justin just holds him tighter. He cards a hand through Alex’s hair, fingertips brushing soothingly against his skin for a minute before he pulls away. “But I know that’s not all this is.” Alex sags back against the couch, ducking his head again.

“I don’t understand,” Bill says. “What couldn’t you stop?”

Oh. Alex had forgotten they were there. He glances at Justin, who looks at them with a serious expression. “We can come back to that. It—It’s complicated, and we could do more hurt telling you. But if that’s what you need, we’ll figure it out,” he directs this at Alex. “You gonna tell us what else is going on in there first?”

Alex’s shoulders raise. He gives a small, one sided shrug.

“Son,” his dad sits on the coffee table in front of him carefully. “We can’t help if you don’t talk to us. Whatever it is, we’re not going to judge.”

“No, I…” Alex trails off, rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it is, it’s just there, all the time and I can’t make it stop. I can’t do anything and I just, I hate it. I just wanted it to stop.”

He feels Justin’s hand tighten where it’s gripping his arm, most likely thinking of the other time he heard similar words, and Alex wants to take them back just so he’ll stop looking like that. But his mother pulls him into her, arms wrapping around him tightly and Justin lets go. Alex returns the hug. Halfway. He wraps one arm around his mom and uses the other to reach back out for Justin, who takes his hand without so much as a flinch.

“Alex, honey, I’m so sorry we didn’t know,” and oh god, she’s crying, and this is exactly what Alex didn’t want.

So he lets her hug him, rests his head on his shoulder, and says, “You weren’t supposed to. It’s stupid. I didn’t want you to know.”

Then his dad’s reaching out and setting his hand on his knee and Alex is at least grateful he isn’t crying, because he thinks at this point Justin is too. “It’s not stupid if it drives you to this. It’s alright, if you can’t explain it, just—just tell us what we can do. Are we not here enough? Is it school?”

“It’s just everything,” Alex chokes. “I fuck everything up and can’t fix anything, and nothing I do makes it better. It’s like I don’t like anything, and I can’t just, be happy even when I should be.”

“That’s why you quit band,” Justin realises. “Shit, Alex, and I let the guys make it worse. I’m sorry, I should have never gotten you involved with them in the first place.”

“I wanted you to.”

“Alex. I know you never liked hanging out with us.”

“I liked hanging out with you,” Alex argues weakly. Then, “And Zach,” because it’s true, and he doesn’t want his parents to think he needs to stop hanging out with him because of this. At least he doesn’t think they’re going to turn on Justin, now.

Justin gives him a smile, and it’s a hint of his old one. Bright and real and a flash of teeth. Lips pulling together before his tongue runs over them. It’s so beautiful and Alex has missed it so much that he can’t help but smile back.

“Is it friends, then?” Carolyn questions.

Alex shrugs, shakes his head. “It's… I guess I miss Jess, a-and Hannah. I fucked things up with Clay, and even Tony, and it—it used to be good with Jeff,” he stops, shakes his head again.

Justin face falls, and he squeezes his hand as Bill says, “You told us you weren’t close to him.”

“Jeff was close to everyone,” Alex says tonelessly. “He asked me to go with him. That night. He asked me and I didn’t go. I could have—”

“You could have ended up like him,” Justin cuts him off vehemently, “and that would fucking suck.”

Alex shrinks a little. “Maybe that would have been better.”

Justin scoffs, loud and irritated and pained. “Yeah, Standall. We all would have really loved that. Do you fucking get what I would have done if something had happened to you that night? If you—if you fucking died? The same night? What the hell do you think that would’ve done to Hannah, to Jess? To —”

He cuts himself off abruptly, but Alex hears what he doesn’t say. To me? Alex doesn’t know what it would have done. He just doesn’t want to see any of it, anymore. He doesn’t want to know. He just misses them. He misses himself; the way he used to be, the way they made him. Before he fucked everything up.

He just wants Justin Foley to stop looking at him like this, and go back to looking at him how he used to. Like he was funny and cool and worth something and not breaking him even more.

He just wants to stop hurting.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for shit we all could have done. Promise me,” Justin squeezes his hand.

Alex nods mutely. Justin’s expression doesn’t change, eyes remain boring into his, until he says, “I don’t know how.”

“We’ll help you figure it out,” Carolyn soothes. “How could we not have seen? You’re all grieving while going through god knows what else and we ignored it. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Alex just shakes his head again. “It’s not your fault. I can’t even—I can’t tell you things because they’re not mine to tell but I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know how to stop it or how I’m supposed to help, I can’t help, and I’m just, I’m so fucking useless.”

Justin’s face is tight, pinched and Alex had been right about seeing his eyes water. They still are, but nothing has spilled over. His hand is tight around Alex’s, free one clenching at his side as if he’s stopping himself from reaching out. Alex’s heart does something funny in his chest, because he realises Justin’s whole body holds the same tension, like he’s holding back.

Carolyn seems to notice this as well, because she squeezes Alex once more before letting him go. He leans back towards Justin just slightly, as an invitation without words. Justin takes it, body seeming to relax as soon as Alex is in his hold. Alex cuddles into him, because his heart feels heavy and he’s tired, and Justin’s still here. They’re all here, listening to him but not pushing and he feels this lightness in his chest that he never remembers feeling. It leaves him feeling almost drowsy, looser and softer than usual and he can do nothing but melt right into the boy holding him.

Justin doesn’t seem to mind, seems glad of it, because he pulls Alex right into his chest and holds him there. His parents are watching them but Alex can’t bring himself to care. He isn’t sure Justin even notices.

“What do you want to do, Alex?” Bill asks, and it’s so gentle and uncharacteristic of him that it takes Alex a minute to process.

He presses further into Justin who shifts his arms around him, comfortingly. “I’m not sure,” he admits, voice tilting up like he’s asking a question.

His mom pats his leg. “That’s okay, honey, you can take your time. We’re here for you, okay? Whatever you need. We can work in baby steps,” she promises softly.

Alex nods, grateful, and finally lets himself smile. His parents return it as Justin kisses the top of his head. Then he pulls away, and Alex panics for a second when he stands. But Justin holds out his hand to him and says, “Come on.”

His brow furrows and he asks, “Where are we going?” He takes Justin’s hand anyway and lets himself be pulled to his feet, then watches as Justin lifts the box of razors.

“You’re going to throw these in the bin,” he states. Alex stares at him.

“What?”

“This is your first baby step.”

He presses the box into Alex’s hand, keeping it covered with his own while Alex looks down at it. He very hesitantly closes his hand around it, and looks back up at Justin. Nods. Justin grins and readjusts his grip on Alex’s other hand, tugging him through the open doorway into the kitchen.

He heads straight to the bin, presses his foot down so the lid opens, and looks at Alex expectantly. Panic and fear grips at Alex’s chest as he holds his hand over the bin. Then he opens his fingers and it’s flooded with relief as he watches the box fall down, out of sight, as Justin lifts his foot and the lid falls back into place.

He pulls Alex back into him, in the most casual hug he’s given him yet; but still warm and protective, still holding tight. Alex can see his parents over his shoulder, standing in the doorway and he thinks, if he has this, he doesn’t need that box.

They go through the rest of the day being mostly normal, except Justin’s there, and Alex is under a stream of constant watch and ‘comforting’ affection. He appreciates it, really, but when they excitedly decide to watch a movie he glues himself to Justin’s side. His arm wraps around him and protects him from any more unnecessary touches and Alex lets himself relax.

It seems obvious to Alex that Justin’s staying, so he pauses a bit when his dad asks him. Justin nods and he adds, “Your parents good with it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Justin nods. “I called my mom earlier. Uh, this morning. When I was here.”

Alex knows it’s a lie, but he doesn’t comment. He’s not going to say anything when Justin’s already agreed to stay with him.

He’s coming back from a bathroom escape when he hears his mother’s voice and stops. “Are you okay? This must be a lot.”

“It-it’s fine.” Justin. “It’s Alex.”

Alex doesn’t know what that means. He looks around the corner, eyes landing on where they stand next to the kitchen counter. His mom raises a hand to her mouth, shaking her head, “If you….if you hadn’t been here. God.” Alex thinks she must be crying again, because Justin’s face goes sad and soft and he hugs her.

“He’s okay. I know I’ve been a shitty friend to him and I—I’m going to be better. I’m gonna take care of him,” he promises, and Alex wants to hug him again. His heart’s still doing that funny thing in his chest.

Carolyn wraps her arms around him and squeezes. “Thank you.” She pulls away and cups the boy’s cheek for a brief second, and Justin looks like a little bit of his heart melts. Alex smiles and turns to go upstairs.

It’s not awkward this time. When they’re finally in Alex’s room. Justin moves to lay on the floor and Alex grips his arm, and tugs. Justin looks at him and he says, very simply, “Here. Please.” It’s quiet and shy and Justin smiles. He climbs in next to him without a word.

Alex is, for some reason, expecting this part to be more awkward. But then Justin pulls him into his chest and presses a kiss to his forehead and Alex breathes.

“I think they talked to your brother,” he says quietly. Alex nods. That’s unsurprising. He was still staying here, after all. He’d probably give Alex his own awkward sappy speech in the morning. “Do you—are you gonna talk to anyone else?”

Alex hesitates. “Should I?”

“I mean, if you want to. You miss Jensen, right?”

“Yeah, but, he doesn’t need this. He has enough to deal with.”

“He cares about you, Alex. He’d want to know. It’s Clay,” Justin says, like that explain everything.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And he could—he could talk to Jess. About giving your parents the tapes, so you can talk to them?” Alex stays quiet. “Or you can talk to Jess. She cares about you, too.”

“No, I can’t,” Alex immediately disagrees. Then he corrects, “I can’t, ask her for that. Maybe…maybe I could talk to her a little, though.”

He feels Justin nod. They’re quiet for a minute before he speaks again. “I remember now. When you used to hang out with Jeff. I would, too, when I couldn’t listen to Bryce and the others sometimes. He was just….”

“Easier,” Alex finishes. “I don't—I didn’t mention that because I felt guilty, so much. I just miss him, I guess? I feel like I find someone who actually likes me and who isn’t a dick and the only thing I do is fuck it up. Or lose it somehow. Like the people I really would miss are the people that keep disappearing.”

Justin’s tone is humorous. “You think that’s why I’m still here?” He’s trying to lighten the mood. Alex knows he doesn’t mean it seriously. He still answers it that way.

“No. I thought that when it felt like I was losing you. Before I’d even listened to the tapes and you started pushing me away.”

There’s silence for a moment. “I didn’t want to watch you start hating me.”

Alex tilts his head up to look at him, gives him a wry smile. “Obviously, I couldn’t have hated you as much as I hate myself.”

He meant it to be joking, but Justin’s eyes get sadder. “Well,” he says quietly, “if it helps, I like you. I still think you’re the good guy, Lex.”

At that, Alex softens. It’s suddenly too much to be looking at him, and he moves his head back down until it’s resting on Justin’s chest. He would do something stupid, otherwise. He wants to have this for at least one night before fucking it up.

Justin kisses his head again and Alex should tell him to stop that, because he’s getting much too used to it much too quickly and it’s weird. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Alex curls an arm over the brunette’s stomach and closes his eyes. The warmth is surrounding him again, and he sinks into it. It’s easy to drift off when his mind is finally quiet.

~^~

It’s the weekend immediately after that, so Justin takes his promise seriously and never lets Alex out of his sight, claiming he’s free to do so. Alex doesn’t argue, because he thinks Justin needs this too, and he doesn’t want to ruin it for him by making him think Alex is turning him away. Not when it helps. He helps.

Then on Monday, Alex’s parents tell him he can take a couple more days, if he wants to. Alex really does. Justin immediately fights to stay with him, but they claim he needs to return at some point. He hasn’t even gone home once, they remind him. Still, Justin only relents after Alex makes an extensive amount of promises.

While there, he talks to Clay; which, Alex is informed, is not a simple interaction by any means. Jessica texts Alex, too. To tell him she’s taking a little while off. Alex tells her the same, and when she asks, he supposes it’s as good a time as any. He doesn’t leave anything out. He tells her about Justin. Gently, but he tells her. She doesn’t judge him, but she warns him. Alex doesn’t bother telling her that he would gladly let Justin Foley destroy him.

He slowly forms some kind of support circle, with all of the above and the addition of Tony and Zach. Justin is still his main one, though. He comes straight to Alex’s after school and hugs him before he does anything else. He stays every night, only now with the absence of any question about where he sleeps. He’s in Alex’s bed before the blonde is, most nights.

Eventually he makes the decision with his parents that he should try a therapist. He starts slowly working things out, and before he knows it he’s breathing easier, to the point where he’s taking it for granted again. He decides it’s his new favourite feeling.

He goes back to school after the first week, and it’s good there, too. He and Clay are able to find a quiet comfort in each other, regain the friendship they used to have. They’re able to talk about Hannah and it helps them both. They both feel the guilt, and Alex is scared at first but nothing has felt better than the hug Clay gives him when he tells him everything. The reassurement that he doesn’t hate him.

Zach takes his mind off things with dumb jokes and trying to get him to play sports. Alex finally gets him to realise that’s just never going to happen. They replace it with video games. Tony’s an extension of Clay, and Alex isn’t as close to him, but he’s cool and has an amazing car and a good taste in music, so they find this middle-ground friendship.

Then, there’s Justin.

Alex’s parents ask him if he’s sure he doesn’t want to go home for a night. That they promise they’ll take care of Alex, he’ll be okay for one night, to not worry about that.

Justin breaks down and tells them everything.

He doesn’t go into full gory detail on his shitty home laugh, but they all get a vivid idea. He launches straight from that into stating that’s not why he’s here though, that he’ll leave if they want them to, he gets it, he was ready to go that day. Then he found Alex, and he couldn’t bring himself to. That he’s fucked up so much and he doesn’t want to do that anymore. That he isn’t sure what happened, but he cares about Alex and Alex is good for him, and even if they want to kick him out he’s not going to leave him, he swears.

They hug him, telling him no, of course they’re not going to kick him out, they have absolutely no reason to do that. That they care about him as much as Alex does, and none of them want him to go anywhere. He’s always welcome, of course he is, they’re so sorry for pushing.

It isn’t the first time Alex has seen him cry, but it’s just as heartbreaking.

That night, Alex holds him equally tight, curled into each other. Justin’s face presses into his hair, and it’s quieter than usual, but it’s good. Because this is Alex’s favourite feeling. Breathing here, with Justin, chests rising and falling in sync. His mind that same quiet, his limbs encased in the same warmth that found him that day. That saved him then, and keeps saving him still, every time.

“I don’t know what it is,” Alex says quietly. “I don’t know if it’s because you saved me, and I don’t want it to be.”

Justin moves back to look at him. “What?”

Alex raises a light hand to his face, fingertips brushing his cheek, index one just brushing his bottom lip. “The way I feel about you. It-it’s not just because you saved me.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s admitting so much more here than what’s being said out loud. Justin stares at him for a moment, eyes searching for something, and then he’s leaning in. Closer, until Alex has to close his eyes, and he thinks this. This is breathing together.

Then any chance of breathing is stolen, because Justin’s lips are pressing against his.

This is the warmth and air and pressure, the feeling of nothing and everything, and Alex wants to stay like this. If he could just stay like this, forever, nothing would ever hurt.

Alex kisses him back desperately, hand sliding over his shoulder and into his hair, holding him there. Tangling in the strands. Justin presses back with just as much fervor, hands on Alex’s waist, soft and gripping and pulling, still trying to get closer. This is that touch. That could never be too much, and Alex thinks might be enough.

It’s when Justin’s tongue brushes his lips that he breaks, laugh slipping out of his mouth. He worries for a moment that he’s ruined it, broken the spell, and then Justin’s laughing too. Alex can feel it, on his lips and against his chest and in his stomach and then Justin’s pulling him back in and prodding at his lips until they part, silently this time.

This is a different warmth then, an aching heat, and they only let go of it when they’re smiling too much and they just can’t make it work anymore. Justin keeps them close, though, foreheads resting together. It’s strange and beautiful in the dark, only the moonlight shining on them, and Alex realises it’s that smile. It’s that damned, Justin Foley smile, all smug and happy and bright on his face. God, Alex has missed it.

“If I knew I just had to kiss you to make you laugh I would have done it earlier,” Justin says. Alex pinches his arm and Justin’s smile widens. He brushes his nose against Alex’s and turns serious. “The way I feel about you…it isn’t just because I saved you.”

Alex smiles. Wide and bright and real, and Justin kisses him again.

It’s an adjustment for everyone. They don’t tell his parents right away, because he thinks it’ll mean new boundaries, and he doesn’t really want them. But that means at school, they don’t really hold back. No one, apparently, thinks it’s weird or is even surprised. They’ve been waiting for it, they tell them. Alex finds himself strangely happy at this.

Justin keeps true on his promise from the first day. When he has a game, Alex is in the stands. It quickly becomes a cliche boyfriend situation, of Justin demanding he wears his jacket, of good luck and congratulations kisses. Justin has pulled entirely away from his old group, has integrated into this new, mismatched one with Alex, and they find themselves mending.

Alex finds himself mending.

He grows back to his parents, to his brother. He still has bad days, and they’re always there to pull him back up when he falls.

But most times, when he looks, it’s blue-green eyes looking back at him; it’s Justin reaching out for him. Alex never hesitates to take his hand. This is the boy who showed up just as broken as him and built them both back up anyway. Who pulled him literally from the water and encased him in warmth.

It’s not perfect, and he’s sure it never will be, but what they have? It’s enough. Alex at least thinks that, in more ways than one, he’s saved him.

**Author's Note:**

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